


In the Same Vein

by wanderinwinter



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinwinter/pseuds/wanderinwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Dracula!AU. Not long after Belle's marriage to Gaston, he leaves on a business trip to Rumplestiltskin's castle. Belle receives a letter from Gaston a month later saying he is in danger, and she ventures off deep into the Carpathians to save her new husband, as she sees it as her duty as his wife. Little does she know that the very man who she has been told to fear is the same man she begins to fall for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey

**Author's Note:**

> In the original novel, his castle is referred to as Castle Dracula, so this fic will follow that by using Castle Stiltskin, instead. 
> 
> Major character death is Gaston

Staring out of her bedroom window, Belle French waits tenderly for her husband’s return from Transylvania. Gaston, whom she has been married to for only a little over a month, has gone into the country deep in the Carpathians to speak with one of his boss’ clients in his absence. He did not tell her much about where he was going, only that he would return in a few weeks. What a lovely way to start a marriage, she thought to herself.   
In all honesty, Belle never cared for Gaston. He worked at Harker’s and Morris’, a realty business, and her father took a liking to Gaston when he acquainted and sold him the castle that the French’s currently reside in. Ever since then, her father, Moe, had taken Gaston under his wing in hopes that he would take over the business when he dies. What better way than for Mr. French’s daughter to marry the young protégé.   
The news that she was to wed this man came as a shock to her. Two weeks previous to the wedding, Moe had entered Belle’s room while she had been reading in her bed and told her of the proposal. Despite her kindly-worded objection, Moe comforted his daughter the best way he could. “Gaston is an honorable man, and I know that you will warm up to him.” Belle nodded despondently, realizing the agreement between Gaston and her father regarding the marriage was already set in stone.   
Regardless of her feelings for the husband she barely knows, she is still worried when seven weeks has gone by with little word from him. She sent a letter to him a week ago, a formality more than anything, and received in return a short correspondence saying that he will be home by the 26th of June. Though he has always been cold to Belle, the letter seems off to her. It has crossed Belle’s mind a few times to ride to Transylvania and make sure he is fine, but she reasons that most business discussions run longer than originally planned.   
It wasn’t until the next day, however, that she changed her mind. It was the break of dawn, the sun barely reaching up, when one of the servants hesitantly opened the door to her room. “I am sorry to wake you, miss,” she said apologetically, “but a letter arrived from Castle Stiltskin addressed to you last night.” Belle motions the young woman over to her and thanks her for her kindness. She waits until she is gone to break the seal and open up the small envelope. A small scrap of paper, possibly torn from a book, is contained within. A few words were written, of which startles her completely. 

Send help. My days are numbered. Beware Rumplestiltskin.

Within an instant, Belle tears off her blankets and grabs a blue dress out of her wardrobe. After changing, she drags an old suitcase out from under her bed, beginning to pack. Despite their distance, she has a duty as his wife to help him, one which she would never back down from. Her desire for adventure and to see the country are the reasons why she does not tell her father of the contents of the letter, telling him only that Gaston wishes to see her so that they may travel through the countryside for their honeymoon. He looks at his darling daughter, worry barely hidden in his eyes. He lets out a short sigh, then grabs her mint-green cloak and wraps it around her. “Are you sure you want to go alone? I can send one of my men with you…for protection.” She gives him a warm smile, then replies, “I’ll be fine, papa. There will be other people travelling in the caravan. I’ll hardly be alone.” Moe wraps his arms around Belle, giving her one last hug before she leaves, and wishes her well during her journey. 

\------------------------------------------  
After walking for two miles, she reaches the town where the barouche is to leave from. The train stops aren’t anywhere near Transylvania, making this the only option to reach Castle Stiltskin. She steps up to the cart, handing her suitcase to one of the men in charge. He tosses it into a separate compartment, then tells her to take her seat. Once up the steps and comfortably seated, she is greeted by local peasants, few of which speak the same language as her. A young woman, close to her age, introduces herself as Ruby. She wears a crimson dress, corset tied tight with a brown lace, and a matching cape. Her deep brown hair falls below her shoulders, peeking out of her hood. She is a talkative girl, going on about the local legends, and Belle is glad to hear her stories. Every once in a while, Belle interjects with a question about the details of certain myths or superstitions. Sometime into the trip, she begins to notice something odd. 

“Ruby, why does everyone where crosses?” The girl gives her a troubled look.

“Legend says that vampires hold dominion over the lands. In order to protect themselves from being the next victim, the locals wear crosses to shield themselves from the blood-sucking creatures. Holy objects and garlic are said to repel them.”

“Where do they live, these vampires?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, but it is believed that the head vampire lives in a castle hidden in the Carpathian Mountains.”

Belle becomes silent, realizing the link between this supposed terrifying creature and the man whom her husband spoke of in his brief message. She isn’t normally one to believe in legends based solely on superstition, but she is certain that something about this Rumplestiltskin must be terrifying for him to have such a reputation. Even if he is not a vampire, he may still consume blood as they do. She starts to worry about Gaston, thinking that perhaps she will be too late. He did say his days were numbered, not mentioning how long he might have.   
The thought of blood and the consumption of such a vile liquid became sickening to her, so she turns her mind toward more pleasant things. Belle remembers her father and of how worried he was when she left that morning. She hopes he is at ease now and not thinking of her. It would pain her to know she was causing him such distress.   
Suddenly, the barouche halted and the driver stepped down from his spot. This signaled the passengers to exit the caravan and collect their bags. Amidst the hastiness of her fellow travelers, another vehicle pulls up alongside the empty barouche. A tall, slender man abandons the dark carriage, which is pulled by two black horses, and inches towards the group of people; towards her. His heavy, grim gaits fills her with a fear far worse than she’d ever felt before.   
He wears a black, wide-brimmed hat, which tilts forward to hide his gaze. His thick black coat covers his body, buttoned up to his throat. It is too dark to see any of his facial features, so he looks like an autonomous shadow. The others around her move away from the strange man, leaving a path from him to her.   
“Belle,” the man said, addressing her directly. “I am here to escort you to your husband.” His voice has a sort of depth to it, with a slight rasp. She walks towards him unthinkingly, his presence drawing her closer. Belle grabs her suitcase, hands it over to the mysterious man, and enters the carriage. Thus, they begin their way towards Castle Stiltskin.


	2. Capturing the Prey

“Damn that Gaston,” Rumplestiltskin mumbles to himself while gathering his cloak and hat, then shutting the hefty front door to the castle, bolting it behind him. How did he let it slip past him? The boy had sent a letter to his new bride, no doubt trying to get her to send help. He had caught a townsperson in charge of delivering the letter moments after handing it over to the postal driver. 

In order to acquire knowledge of whether the note had been received, Rumplestiltskin sent a telegram to the French residence immediately once home, knowing from previous conversations with Gaston that he had been staying there for a short period of time with his now-wife. 

*telegram* - Inquiring if letter has been received from Gaston Moreau and any actions taken after reading

A telegram returned within half an hour saying they had received the letter, but would not give it to Gaston’s wife, Belle, till morning. One more telegram sent back ensured that they would respond once more after she had read the letter. If no response was sent, he would prepare for an attack that would surely come. Luckily for Rumplestiltskin, Mr. French informed him this morning that Belle had just left for the castle by herself. 

The poor girl, unaware of what she has done by deciding to rescue her husband alone. It is only a matter of getting rid of the young woman to cover his tracks. He contemplates turning her into one if his bloodthirsty accomplices, if only to aid in devouring and turning the entirety of London into vampires: his very own subhuman race of undead beings. 

The wind has begun to pick up as the night falls. Rumplestiltskin quickens his pace while harnessing the horses to the black carriage. He climbs on the front, grabs the reigns, and proceeds to the stopping point of the barouche which brings locals into the countryside. The uneven, paved path underneath has made traveling a nuisance, and he grumbles each time there is a large bump in the road. 

If only he had someone to do his dirty work for him, but he has found that people are not to be trusted, especially when dealing with the supernatural. Terror has its way of causing people to break their word as a means of self-preservation. 

His wife, Milah, had left him 150 years ago after discovering he was turned into a vampire, leaving with some ship captain she had met in the taverns one day. It wasn’t as if he chose to become a monster; he was tricked by a strange man, whose only plan was to drag as many people down with him into this hellish curse as he could. Rumplestiltskin’s son, Baelfire, left at the age of eighteen, horrified by his father’s need to drink blood to live. 

As he comes closer to his destination, he becomes more conscious of his surroundings. The trees are less dense at this point, making it easier to scan the area around him. A storm threatens the land and he hopes it doesn’t hit until he is safe at home. That, however, is unlikely. 

Once he turns the bend in the road, the barouche is parked straight ahead. He lines up his carriage to the vehicle and steps onto the soft ground. All of the people lift their gaze to him and move back and away as though repelled by the man. That is when he sees her. 

Belle, whom he recognizes from the photograph Gaston carried with him, is more beautiful than he could imagine. Her rich, brown hair is tied neatly back, and her eyes are an indescribable shade of blue. Never had he been this awestruck, not even for his wife. Rumplestiltskin manages to keep his composure as he calls her to him and grabs her suitcase, placing it on one of the seats in the back with Belle. 

She is silent for most of the time on their journey, contradictory to what he had heard from Gaston about the young girl. “Beautiful,” he told Rumplestiltskin on his first night, “but far too outspoken.” Rumple scoffed, wondering how anyone could look past such a delicate creature as her to find a fault. An outburst of thunder interrupts his ponderings, drawing him back to the road. 

***************

Belle lets out a small gasp, frightened by the booming noise. “Not many storms where you live, eh?” he quips. She whips her gaze to the man who broke the hour-long silence, then exhales, releasing any left-over tension. “I was caught off guard and frightened.” She blushes a little and turns back to the window, displeased by his bluntness, but speaks again. “There is an abundance of rain in my home country, actually. Our skies have rarely seen the light of the sun. Perhaps that is why…”

Belle is unable to speak when she sees Rumplestiltskin’s castle built amongst the jagged mountains in the distance. The rocky landscape is covered in lush greenery, which flourishes in the spring climate. A thin mist hangs in the cool air, giving an eeriness to the dreamlike quality of her surroundings. She catches herself in pure awe and apologizes to the shadowy man. He brushes it off and returns his attention to driving the carriage. 

She holds her breath as they drive up each winding hill, finally arriving at Castle Stiltskin. The iron gates ahead open by themselves as though by magic. How curious. The horses trot through the narrow pathway and come to a stop at the stone-paved area in front of the entrance. The man, whom she did not catch the name of, swoops down from the carriage and staggers over to the door to her left. He gently pulls it open, grabs her suitcase, and then reaches his slender hand out to her.

Belle is hesitant, but does not want to be rude. She shudders at his touch. He is ice cold, she thinks. Then man notices her reaction, and smiles to himself. “I am sorry. My blood has run cold for quite some time.” She doesn’t respond, instead stepping down from the carriage with his assistance. As he lets go of her hand, he lifts his head and removes his hat. 

She notices his eyes are a menacing blood red, which burn her skin as he stares. His skin is a pale green color and his lips are pulled thin as he grins. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he announces. “I am Count Rumplestiltskin.”


	3. A Proper Introduction

“Y…you’re the count?” Belle stumbles out. Rumplestiltskin bows with grandeur. “Yes, Dearie, in the flesh.” He lifts her suitcase off of the ground and walks towards to menacing front entrance. Belle freezes for a second in confusion, almost not realizing he has already left, but soon follows after. She brushes her hair, now wet and entangled from the rain and wind, behind her shoulders, then walks determinedly to Rumplestiltskin. 

“If you’re, the Count, why not send someone for me instead of going yourself?”, she questions him, shortly after regretting the forceful tone of her voice. He turns his head away from the door to look in her direction. “That’s my business.” He waves towards her, motioning her to follow. “Come inside.” He tears open the wooden door with a surprising swiftness, as though it is weightless at his touch. It remains ajar on its own, but Belle tries not to let him notice her bewilderment. 

Belle follows his instructions and walks behind him into his home. He moves smoothly, like a ghost, and she adapts her pace to his. As she steps over the threshold, a sense of dread and emptiness overfills her, but is quickly gone when she is taken aback by the scene. 

The interior is just as astonishing as the building’s facade. The walls are painted a weathered gold color and lined with portraits of what must be relatives. In the dead center is a grand staircase, also gold, leading upwards and then winding around the room. There are two large tables on opposite sides of the room holding a collection of antiques.   
“Try not to get too excited, Dearie.” Rumplestiltskin is now standing behind her, his face inches away from the back of her neck. “It’s so beautiful,” Belle says softly. “How do you keep up with all of the dust?” He lets out a small giggle. “Let’s just say… I have a lot of time on my hands.” Belle smiles, thinking that with the lightened mood, it will be a good time to address the sole reason she has come here. At least the chances of him killing her might be lessened.

He gives off a slightly flamboyant nature and supposed harmlessness, but she still remembers Gaston’s warning in the note he had sent her and the folklore Ruby spoke to her of. She is not naïve, and notices the two sharp fangs protruding from his lips. You are dealing with a vampire. He is probably more cunning and tricky than any person she has ever met. Thus, she finds it key to dance around her questions in order to keep him from snapping on her. “I imagine Gaston must have gotten lost quite a few times during his stay. Is he upstairs?” 

Rumplestiltskin steps around her, now face-to-face with the young girl. “You’re timing is rather ill. He just left to collect a few papers to finish up our little deal. You are welcome to stay here… until he comes back.” His voice contains an immature yet commanding quality, wrapping around her and sending shivers down her spine. He’s dead, she thinks to herself, knowing better than to believe anything he tells her. Rumplestiltskin unhooks the clasp of her cape and takes it from her, placing it on a small chair next to the entrance. 

He curls his arm around her waist and leads her up the staircase. “I understand you take a liking to books.” Belle is unsure of what he is trying to do, but says yes. From the landing, she can see a multitude of doors ahead and to both sides. His grip on her eases as they turn left and continue down the long, dark hall. A few lit candles hang to give a faint glow of light, otherwise they would be in complete darkness. The candles also add a bit of warmth to the damp, cool air. 

Belle is glad she wore a dress suitable for winter, since it keeps the coldness of his hand from reaching her skin. The sleeves cover her arms up to her elbows and the skirt is thickly layered with cotton fabric. Even so, she notices a carefulness in the way he holds her, trying not to cause Belle any discomfort. She is baffled by his lack of beastly characteristics, and would completely let her guard down if she forgot to remind herself of the current situation. 

It is not until they reach the end of the corridor that Rumplestiltskin releases his hold of her waist and grabs one of the ivory-shade candles off of the wall. He extends his fingers and grips the brass knob of one of the doors on the right side. The hinges creak from age when he pushes open the door connecting to an already-lit room.   
Bookcases are stacked up to the ceiling on two walls of the library, filled with novels of varying sizes and colors. In the middle of the room are two red couches facing each other and a mahogany table in between where a few books are splayed out on top. Parallel to this arrangement is a fireplace, burning bright. The floors are carpeted with an ornate pattern of red and gold; common colors throughout the property. 

“This is an incredible collection,” Belle says. “I have never been surrounded by this many books before. I’d read them all if I could.” Rumplestiltskin cocks his head, looking curiously at the girl, then waltzes over to the burning fire and places a teapot over the flames. She supposes it had already been filled with water in anticipation for her arrival.  
Belle takes a seat in one of the couches as he goes over to a large cabinet and removes a white, porcelain cup, and sets it on the table in front of her. She picks it up when his back id to her and examines the painted designs to distract herself while waiting for the water to boil. A deep blue branch is painted on the side and the base is lined with the same color. On the rim is a very thin line of gold.

She turns the cup in her fingers for a little and in a few minutes hears the teapot whistling in the background, followed by the faint clattering of metal as he removes the lid and puts in the tea leaves. Belle watches him walk towards her with the teapot in hand, and she places the cup back on the table. 

“This should keep you warm,” he tells her, pouring the tea into the cup and setting it at an arms-reach from her. She curls her fingers through the handle. “Thank you.” Rumplestiltskin sits across from Belle, silence ensuing. In hopes of starting a conversation, Belle asks “Aren’t you going to have any tea... or do vampires not drink anything but blood?” 

“Smart girl,” he remarks. “What gave it away? The sharp teeth,” he twirls his hands in the air, an odd gesture, “or perhaps the cold skin? Don’t worry, I won’t drain your blood… or at least not all of it.” Frightened by his words, the cup slips from her hands. “Not serious, Dearie.” Belle quickly reaches to the ground and picks it up. A small triangular piece had broken on the edge when it hit the ground. “I’m so sorry. It’s chipped.” Belle becomes uneasy, not knowing how he might react to the damaged item. “It’s just a cup,” he quips, and she breathes a sigh of relief. After recuperating her strength, she decides to try to keep the conversation going. 

“Since I have to wait for Gaston to return, and I might be here for a few days, could you tell me about yourself? It would make the time go by faster, and you probably know about me already.” He nods to her, asking “What would like to know?” Belle looks off into the distance quizzically, thinking of a question. “What were you like before...changing?” 

“That man is long gone and I would prefer to keep it that way.” His voice remains playful, yet each word spoken with a harsh staccato. Belle apologizes, deciding instead to ask about the collection of antiques he had displayed in the entryway. He speaks for quite some time and she listens intently. When she begins to show signs of tiredness, he shows her to a guest room across the hall where she can sleep. It is simply furnished, with a bed covered in white linens, a side table, and a dresser. Belle waits in her temporary bedroom for him to return with her suitcase containing her clothes and a nightgown. 

She turns in for the night once changed, thoroughly worn out by the eventful day which is now behind her.


	4. Comfort in Solitude

From the Diary of Belle French-Moreau

I have spent three nights so far since my arrival at the castle. Rumplestiltskin assures me that Gaston is on his way, but I have come to believe he is already dead, or even undead. But the Count is kind to me and interesting to talk to, so I haven’t thought about leaving all of this behind. Perhaps, it would be unwise to ask of my leave. 

On the first day, I woke up to find a note on my bedside table apologizing for his absence and that he would join me in the evening when the sun had set. There was a plate with bread and cheese next to the note as well. I spent most of my time in the library scanning through the various volumes of historical reference books and a small section of fictional novels. The pages were yellowed and the bindings worn from years of use, though were otherwise in good condition. 

I had learned much of his country and of the many wars that occurred over the past hundred years. Tales of a fierce soldier who defeated hordes of armies with a fierceness unseen before stood out among the text. This soldier was believed to be more of a myth, if anything, because no one knew who he was or where he came from. I had a suspicion that this mysterious hero was the Count himself, or possibly one of his long-dead relatives. 

There was little I knew about Rumplestiltskin at that time, and still little I know now as I write this entry. One day he might open up, but the experience of the first night has kept me from provoking any answers from him that he is unwilling to give on his own. 

In the later hours of the first day he slipped into the library and led me to the dining room, where I ate and he kept me company. I had asked why he hadn’t consumed anything during the time of my stay, and he explained that blood was the only possible source of energy for someone like him. 

Rumplestiltskin never used the word “vampire” around me. I assumed he was uncomfortable with the term because of the folklore it was associated with. It was one thing for him to call himself a beast or a monster; it was another for someone to use the absurd myths against him. But he didn’t mind when I used it on the first night, and I am unsure as to whether this is another thing which I cannot say in his presence, or if I have somehow gained his trust.

Today, I will continue my new habit of scanning through the library early in the morning and reading until he comes to bring me to dinner. It is nevertheless enjoyable to have an entire room filled with books all to myself, and then being able to discuss the information I have learned with a knowledgeable companion. A sense of loneliness has not settled in yet from having not been in the presence of another being since the ride here. 

\--------------------

Rumplestiltskin arrives later than usual on the third night to escort Belle to the other room. She brings one of the books she had been reading with her, one arm wrapped tightly around the leather-bound cover, the other holding his hand, long since used to his touch. Her pale pink dress is a contrast to his black suit-coat and auburn cravat. 

He smiles contently at her as she speaks of the collection of fairytales and folklore she had been enthralled by. He pulls out one of the chairs for her to sit, and she thanks him. Continuing on, she begins to tell of one she took a particular liking to. “There was a story of a dragon who was never afraid of anything. In fact, he was even feared, but respected nonetheless, since he helped many who lived in the land. Then one day, he came across a fairy spirit, whom he fell for. They married soon after meeting, but found that they could not be together. He needed to be near water and she missed her home. So, they each took fifty of the one hundred children they had and watched over the country from opposite sides of the land. I found it to be sweet, how a beastly creature could end up with something as innocent and fragile as a fairy.” 

A small hint of color appears in Rumlestiltskin’s face, if it is even possible for someone like him. He fidgets, not meeting her eyes, and replies, “Yes, how…sweet.” She bites her lip as she watches him, realizing she has caught him off guard. “I was wondering,” she starts after a long silence, “would it be okay of I asked you about vampires? I couldn’t find anything in the library on the subject.” She feels a bit of shame for giving in to her curiosity. 

“Of course. Anything in particular?” He has regained his composure by now, which she finds an odd comfort in seeing. “What does being a vampire entail? Did you gain any powers from becoming one?” Rumplestiltskin crosses his legs and takes in a breath before speaking. 

“Strength, for one. Shape shifting. Communicating with wolves. Controlling the weather. It all comes with a price I am fortunate enough not to pay. This curse feeds from the energy of blood. The liquid coursing through your veins is a source of life. It pumps your heart and keeps the brain working. We would be nothing without it and so much more when taken in excess.” 

Belle is intrigued by the way he speaks of his condition, as he hates its hold on him yet praises its power all at once. Calling vampirism a curse would certainly imply a negative connotation. She had never thought in the time she has known him that he would dislike being the wielder of abilities far greater than any human could imagine or reach. Rumplestiltskin’s honesty with her this evening draws her closer to him in a way she didn’t think would happen, since he usually puts up a front whenever she is around. 

“How do you choose people?”, she asks, afraid of what he might tell her. “A master never reveals his secrets.” Rumplestiltskin giggles. “Don’t worry yourself over a trivial thing like that, Dearie.” Belle smiles nervously and wishes he wouldn’t have avoided the question. It isn’t that she wanted to know the details, in fact it was quite the opposite, but she does feel the need to understand what could lead someone to becoming one of his victims. She also wonders how he could harm a living person without a thought. Naturally, this led her to pursue this further, speaking with a serious tone. “Do they…the people you drink from...die when you do so?”   
“No, they simply grow weak.” She sighs from relief. “Thank goodness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The myth Belle tells Rumple originates from Vietnam. The dragon is named Lac Long Quan and the fairy is named Au Co. I have a limited knowledge of the story and any other possible versions, so hopefully I didn't summarize it incorrectly. 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who has been reading so far. It is my first chapter fic, and it means the world that people enjoy it.


	5. Darkness Falls

Belle changes into a white nightgown once in her room and sits on the edge of the bed with her silver brush in hand, running it through her hair. The ornate piece is decorated with emerald jewels and patterns of swirls molded on it. Her mind keeps slipping to Rumplestiltskin and their conversation during this trivial task. He is not as dark as she thought he would be, and she is glad.

Most would find her decision to stay as unwise, and she certainly would not disagree, but this is the most eventful thing that has happened to her in a long time. As long as she is cautious, she sees no harm in waiting to see what might unfold. Belle trusts him, despite not having much to base it off of, so she invites the adventure he adds to her life. After all, didn’t he make a point of assuring her on the first night that she will be safe in his presence? An extreme way, nonetheless, but it is enough for her.

She finishes untangling the knots naturally formed in her hair during the day, the one downside to having thick locks. Belle walks to the other side of the bed to place her brush on the nightstand then slips underneath the crisp, cotton sheets. The room lacks a heat source, so she curls up tightly to keep warm. It is not long until she falls asleep.  

\--------------

Creaking hinges and the sound of footsteps gracing the floorboards echo in the distance; far too faint to interrupt Belle’s slumber. Three shadows fall across the wall in the corridor then slide like a dark mist underneath the door to her room. Once inside, the formless beings shift to forms resembling a human, but conveying a supernatural quality.  

Each of the young women gaze at Belle’s lifeless form with an air of determination. The leader of the macabre group, ebony hair cascading past her shoulders, leads the two and lowers her head close to Belle’s. “Hello, Darling,” she address the girl, her words dripping with disgust. Belle jumps awake and cowers against the headboard, tucking her legs to her stomach. 

“Who are you?” She is frightened but does what she can to keep a clear mind. She eyes the woman, who towers above her cloaked in a deep purple dress of velvet. “Adella, pleased to meet your acquaintance. And these are Rosalie and Clara, my…sisters.”  The other figures behind her wear dresses of similar design and color, and are both share blonde tresses.

When Belle’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness, she notices a thin streak of red leading from Adella’s mouth to jaw-line. She must have feasted before making her way to Belle’s room, already stalking again for more. _An insatiable thirst._ “Don’t be so scared. We simply want to welcome you.” Her words drag slowly with a weight to each syllable.

She extends a bony finger and places it under Belle’s chin. “Like a doll, isn’t she girls?” Rosalie and Clara move closer to her, and the latter adds, “Innocent. We’d hate to see the Count take away such a precious quality.” The third woman, who is barely over the age of twenty, watches in silence. Her hands are folded in front of her as if she is seeking counsel from royalty.

Belle tries to think of a way to escape. The door is open a crack, which would be helpful if not for the fact that she is outnumbered. A distraction might buy her a few seconds so she tries to think of how to outwit the menacing women. Her mind quickly goes to the vampire folklore she has read over the years at home. She knows these creatures are demon-sent with strength greater than her own, except for a few particular weakness. Belle closes her eyes tight and begins to recite the first prayer she can remember. “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

The familiar recitation is cut off by an invisible force, pinning her to the bed and sending her into a trance. Adella approaches her with protruding fangs targeted at Belle’s porcelain neck. The defenseless girl is unaware of what is happening or the danger she is in. She feels as though she is dreaming as the colors and shapes around her blur into an incoherent mess. Then, a sharp pain shoots through her whole body and her back arches in response.

In an instant, Belle hears the slamming of a door followed by a commanding male voice, but it all sounds like mumbling to her. The small of her back connects to the surface again when Adella withdraws. Within the span of a few seconds, she becomes unconscious from the lack of blood, and is devoured by a mighty darkness.

\----------------------

Belle gradually comes to her senses, stretching out her arms and yawning. To her, the previous night seems like a dream. It was too strange, too unreal to have occurred. She steadily runs her fingers up her neck, her sleeve gently slipping down her arm.Two raised pinpricks adorn her skin where she remembers Adella had bitten her. _It wasn’t a dream._

Her heart drops to her stomach as she rushes over to her suitcase to dig out a hand mirror. It is buried under folded dresses and takes a moment to find, but once in her grasp, she whips it to up to the fresh marks. The area around them is tinted blue but is otherwise undetectable to one unaware of the incident. She worries that Rumplestiltskin will send her away for he own safety, and rightly so.  

“Good afternoon, Dearie.” Belle jumps in horror, not realizing he is behind her. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She skillfully places her hair over the marks on her neck. “You certainly have a habit of doing so,” she jokes, but he does not find it particularly amusing. His expression is grave, and is made even more unsettling by his stone-like features. “It is fine,” she mutters comfortingly, “and I should be the one forgiving you. I did not mean to sleep this late.”

Rumplestiltskin timidly steers her to the bed. “Get some rest.” She politely protests his kind gesture. It would do her some good to spend time with him during the day, for the first time. “That’s not needed, and I wish to read.” He does not counter her request and nods, allowing her to go to the library. “I would love if you were to come with,” she offers, and he sheepishly grins. “I would be delighted.”

As they walk across the hall into the other room, she focuses her gaze on him. “Rumple?” He peers from the corner of his eyes as he opens the door. “Thank you for saving me last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from Rumple's POV, and will address his plan of moving to London that was mentioned in the second chapter.


	6. Careful Planning

Rumplestiltskin sneaks deep into the caverns of the castle after accompanying Belle for dinner to where he keeps all of his work. It is hidden off to the side where few would dare look, nearly impossible to find.

Outstretched on the table in his lair is a worn map of London with specific points marked down in ink. The most prominent of these locations is the abandoned building he purchased from Harker and Morris. No one has inhabited the structure for decades, though it stands prominent in the city.

The other points on the map are for the buildings he is working towards acquiring in the future, all for his master plan. To accomplish this, he had undertaken a few helpless souls who made the wrong deal at the wrong time. Adella, the most promising of his, was found one night in the streets desperate for money to pay off old debts long overdue. He met her needs in exchange for her life and obedience. The miserable world had hardened her, making her spiteful.  Clara and Rosalie followed Adella’s example, joining him a few months later, and took to being just as cruel and heartless. The vampirism had removed the last shred of humanity they held onto after turning.

He rifles through a stack of papers, picking out a few documents he had gone through with Gaston for the other buildings before he had gotten rid of him. Rumplestiltskin had killed the man when he realized he had learned too much for the Count’s taste. He was exploring the castle, which was strictly forbidden, and snuck into the Count’s room to continue his unwarranted exploration of the estate. Rumplestiltskin noticed a few of his possessions out of place upon returning and knew instantly that it was the doing of Gaston. Before getting rid the man, however, he made sure all paperwork was taken care of. It is only a matter of returning them to Harker and Morris, as well as an explanation for the disappearance of their prestigious employee.

This is a minor setback for him, but he is a calculating man. The only change in his plan occurred when he decided to take in the young girl. Or rather, decided to let her live. He grew fond of her curious and fearless nature over the past few days, as well as her beauty. Her mere presence had the ability to turn him into a bumbling fool. He knew she was aware of this by the way she spoke of the story of a fearsome beast falling for a fair maiden. 

It will not be a problem, as long as she does not protest and agree to join him on his journey to London. There, she will be safe. In the company of the three women residing with him, she would be in danger. It is only a matter of time before they decide to make their presence known, and he would like to avoid such an event. Rumplestiltskin remains in his lair for an hour or so before coming back up to check in on the girl. Though he denies it to himself, he is protective of her.

Climbing up the grand staircase and along the hall, he can sense something is wrong; another benefit of this curse. His first instinct is to run to the resting place of the three women. The door is wide open and completely empty. In a hurry, he runs to Belle’s room, only to find the door closed tight. Still, he forces it open. Before him is Adella bent over the girl, teeth dug deep in her neck, draining her of her blood. “Step back from her before I kill all three of you right here.” The sleek woman drops the girl and meanders her way to Rumplestiltskin.

“You were going to do the same, eventually. Better to get it done now than after you get attached to the little creature.” He fidgets, huffing angrily. Adella catches on to his aloofness. “Oh…you already have. Who knew the monstrous Count Rumplestiltskin had a soft spot?” She speaks heavily in sarcasm, and each word grates on him. Moving swiftly, he wraps his hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. “I will have no more of this. One more word and you’ll find a wooden stake jutting out of your chest.” He removes his hold of her. “As for the girl, none of you will lay a finger on her. Now, get out.”

Adella, Clara, and Rosalie eye him as they exit the room, gliding like ghosts, and he watches them just the same. Once gone, he strides over to Belle. He stands by the side of the bed, stroking her cheek gently, observing her pale skin and breathing patterns. Nothing has been changed drastically but he is still uneasy leaving her alone in such a vulnerable state. Rumplestiltskin leaves for a moment to grab a small chair, then seats it next to her bed, careful not to make a sound.

Scanning the dark room, he comes across a leather-bound book on the nightstand, one he hardly remembered owning. Slipped between the parchment is a slip of paper halfway through. He opens it to the beginning, and spends most of the night reading. He would have not realized how long he had stayed with her through the night, if not for the curtains being tied to the side to allow the window to be uncovered. A faint beam of light shines from the glass panes, and he quickly gathers the chair and leaves.

\------------

A few hours later, after spending ample time down below in his workroom, he walks up the steps, deciding to check in on Belle before returning to his coffin in his room. He is able to peer in, seeing her brushing through her hair. She looks beautiful as the sunlight hits her pale face. Rumplestiltskin creeps in quietly and stands closely behind her, out of sight. His reflection does not show in the mirror she holds, paying careful attention to the way her hair falls.

They converse, however awkwardly after he had frightened her, him trying his best to avoid speaking of the previous night. She is well composed, indifferent to his presence, and refraining from speaking too much. He was certain she would want to leave, but the way she acts prove otherwise 

He finds himself completely off guard when she asks kindly for him to join her in the library. The way her eyes gleam when she meets his eyes is like a tiny spark. To make matters more nerve wracking for him, she thanked him for saving her the night before. It never crossed his mind that she would remember anything after the loss of blood instigating a nearly unconscious state. He does not regain a calm composure until seated on one of the couches in the library. Belle, on the other hand, heads straight to the bookcases in search of something new to read.

Rumplestiltskin watches her, secretly, eyes scanning every inch of her. The act brings upon a sinful craving, but what is that to a man whose very existence is born from hell. How he wishes to give in to his deepest desires; to draw her to the darkness and consume her whole, refashioning her into a demon just as he is. But he drowns those fantasies before they manifest into something more. He will never succumb to such animalistic desires and tarnish her purity.

Belle turns around with a new book in hand and he looks away as she walks to sit across from him. She fixes the skirt of her dress then places the book on her lap, opening it to the first page without hesitance, never looking in his direction. Better for him to inform her now than to wait. “How would you like to accompany me on a journey?” She lifts her head, breaking her focus on the pages in astonishment. “You want me to join you…on a journey? To where?”

“London. It won’t be long, but I’d rather not leave you alone to roam and nose around in my castle while I am away.”

“This certainly comes as a surprise,” she replies, “though a part of me knew leaving would not be an option from you. I assumed I had quite overstayed my welcome, and I do not wish to be put into danger once more by beings I cannot fight.” Belle wrings he fingers nervously while still trying come across as strong. There is a difficulty for her in ignoring her fear, staring him coldly in the eyes to assert herself. “I plan to leave as soon as possible.”

“Dearie, you became bound to me the second you made the decision to make your way to my castle; there is no leaving. As for your safety, I assure you, as I did before, no harm shall come your way.” He pauses momentarily. “We leave in three days.”


	7. On Her Own Terms

From the Diary of Belle French-Moreau

Within the span of a few short statements, I had gone from guest to prisoner. Am I truly confined to his castle, or otherwise forced to remain within sight of the Count? I stayed all of this time because it had been my choice. It was the first time I was able to have control over my own fate, and I was able to explore a world outside of my father’s castle. However long this change were to last, I hadn’t pondered, but now it was set in stone.

I realize how absolutely childish I sound, changing my mind on a whim for such foolish reasons and disregarding all danger for a fantasy, but no amount of cursing myself could fix my mistake. What was I hoping for?

_Forever_. What a haunting word. And what does he plan to do with me, years or even months from now? I played no role in his life up to this point, created no bond that could not be broken easily. We are but two strangers confined to the same walls, though I am drawn to him in ways I cannot explain. As much as I hoped it was because of the possibilities he offered, it was something more. On rare occasions I had glimpsed the man behind the monster; someone kind, and altogether human. Perhaps that was the real reason I had never tried to leave.

Regardless, the effects of being bitten have not been noticeable, which is a relief, except for this strange dream I scarcely remember after a difficult night’s rest. I found it impossible to sleep the next night, lest I was attacked again, but kept my silver brush tight in grasp. It was all I could do to protect myself from the three vampires taking shelter somewhere unknown in the castle. Today I will decide whether to stay or attempt to escape.

\--------

Belle strides into the dining hall, arms swaying at her sides, stopping a short distance from the head of the table where Rumplestiltskin sits, then leans against the table. “Aren’t we a little bold?” He jabs playfully. She flashes him an unamused upturn of her lips, then gets to the point of her visitation. “If I am to join you in two days, I have a condition you must fulfill.”

 

“And what is it you want? It’s always the same. Gold…status...a life beyond compare…”

 

“To know you,” she cuts in when he seems to have finished his list of previous demands of those he surely encountered in the past. “I kept my distance out of courtesy, because I did not think I would be a welcomed guest in your home for long. But now that I am a permanent resident of your castle, it would be nice to know who you truly are.” The unsettling way in which he eyes her, pleased to see a bit of stubbornness in the girl, drives her mad in determining what he will make of her request.

She had always tried her best to remain passive, failing to on many occasions. Father never liked her determined, inquisitive nature. Repressing each lighthearted interjection one by one because he did not find it acceptable. Such was true for all women in Victorian society. All she could ever be was a bird in a cage to her father and Gaston. A hope remains from the moment she arrived that staying with Rumplestiltskin would not be the same. That she could have the smallest chance to be more than what her father wanted of her.

Still, silence pervades the air as she waits for him to answer. He steeples his fingers in front of him on the table, gazing momentarily into her eyes and feeding off of her impatience. “It’s a deal.” Belle strides over to the other side of the dining hall, grabbing an upholstered wooden chair, then placing it to the right of him and sitting anxiously.

 

“Well, I didn’t mean now.”

 

“No, I have waited long enough. Besides, this is hardly an outrageous demand. You are the one commanding me to become no more than… whatever it is you keep me alive for. Tell me about who you were before you turned.”

Rumplestiltskin rests his hands on his lap and leans back in the chair with the air of confidence he always puts forth. It is how he cleverly hides any hesitance to reveal who he used to be to the young girl. Vulnerability comes from openness in regards to others, a despicable trait in his eyes. “Sometimes I find it hard to remember. It was so long ago.” Belle leans forward, intrigued, shifting in her chair and smoothing the pleats in her dress as she does.

“I with lived in a small village, not far from Transylvania. My work as a spinner provided a meager sum of money; enough to support my wife and son.”

She cocks her head. “You had a son? I never pictured you as the fatherly type.” He gives a smile of satisfaction at her as she then starts to fumble over her words to correct herself.. “I didn’t mean… it’s just by the way you act, it’s hard to imagine. Though right now, not as much as before… What became of him?”

 

“It is of no importance. He died long ago.”

               

“I’m sorry.” She takes a moment to think before asking anything else. “How does one entertain themselves over hundreds of years? Even with the extensive collection of books in your library, you must have been bored or lonely at some point.”

 

“One would suppose.”

 

“So…” she says, voice lingering.

 

“So, what?”

 

“What is it you do around here?” gesturing vaguely with her hand to the room around them.

He rolls his eyes ever so slightly, being unable to deter her from the subject. “Pesky, pesky girl. But if you must know, I spin, along with amassing an array of fascinating collectibles. Then trying to trace it back to where it originated; a time-consuming task.”

 

 “Very interesting. I don’t know how you haven’t filled the entire castle considering how long you’ve been alive.”

 

“200 years is but a blip in the existence of mankind. Hardly enough to bat an eye at.” He folds his arms across his chest.

 

“It is when the normal lifetime is less than half. Not that I would ever want more than I am given.”

 

He slides back his chair, excusing himself momentarily. After a short period of time, he returns carrying a tray, which consisted of a tea pot and two cups. She recognizes one of them as the cu she chipped on the first night. She looks pointedly over at the tray of items, wordlessly showing her confusion as to why he up and left during their conversation, which he catches.

 

“I expect we’ll be here a while longer.”


End file.
